Coming Home
by theladyofthedarkcastle
Summary: repeatinglitanies prompted: Belle spend the 28 cursed years as a homeless woman. Knowing full well no one is inside the pink Victorian house during the day, she sleeps inside and always makes sure to leave the house without a trace by the time Mr. Gold comes back. The set up works well for Belle for as long as she can remember, that is until the town florist breaks in and leaves
1. Chapter 1

_The Enchanted Forest, 29 years ago_

_"So...she needs...a...a...home?" Rumplestiltskin stutters, his face at war between looking completely hopeful and maintaining the careful disinterest required when dealing with this particular client. _

_Regina, her back to the imp, smirked. She knew taking the girl had been the right move. Rumple thought he could hide her away from everyone but he had trained Regina well. Especially with her impending curse, she wanted to have extra cards to play. _

_"Her father was cruel to her," she explained, spite coloring her tone, "He locked her in a tower and sent in clerics to cleanse her soul with scourges and flaying. After a while, she threw herself off the tower." _

_Regina paused, gleefully watching a myriad of emotions play across the Dark One's face. "She died." _

"_You're lying." Rumplestiltskin spit out. _

_Regina's smile grew wider and colder at the same time. "Am I?" _

"_We're done." Rumplestiltskin squeezed out, crossing the room to open the doors. He needed Regina out of his hands, right now. _

_Regina set the cup down and strode across the Great Hall to the doors. "Fine - I have other calls to make. The place is looking dusty, Rumple. You should get a new girl." _

_She heard Rumple shut them behind her, probably off to rage and throw things. That wasn't her concern. She hadn't come here for tea. She'd come here for something much more important, and after the exchange with her teacher, she knew exactly what she was going to do. _

_Rumple had an incredibly easy life ahead of him in this new land, the curse had made sure of it. He'd have all the comforts he could wish for, well, all the comforts except the one he actually seemed to desire. Not that he'd remember she was dead, allegedly, but he'd still find himself even more alone than he was now. _

_Regina grinned to her black knights, waiting dutifully next to her ornate black carriage. Her footman swung the door open without a word, offering his hand for balance as the queen hoisted her self and voluminous skirts into the small space. If this Belle needed a home that was exactly what she'd make sure she wouldn't have. _

Storybrooke, Maine

Belle peaked through the bushes surrounding the gardens of a large, rather pinkish, Victorian style home. She paused, the greenery doing their part to keep her hidden from any wandering eyes. Not that there were any wandering eyes, not at this time of morning, and never in front of this particular house. No one would dare to come within 100 yards of this particular house and that was the exact reason Belle had sought it out.

Unconsciously holding her breath, she heard a soft click and the front door to the house swung open. She saw the back of an extremely well tailored suit fill the doorframe as the door was then pulled closed. Another click as the key was turned in the lock and the man set his gold tip cane on the floor and turned. Mr. Callum Gold. The owner of the incredibly odd coloured home, the owner of most of the town, as a matter of fact.

A man with a reputation that preceded him before you thought to think of him. Not that most people didn't have Mr. Gold somewhere in their subconscious at all times. If someone crossed his path, there was a high probability they'd walk away with a much higher rent. He was calculating, manipulative and shrewd. He owned the pawnshop and spent most of his days in his lair reworking paperwork or inventory. Every aspect of his life was meticulous. He also lived alone.

Those last two characteristics were the selling points for Belle when the weather of the small, coastal Maine hamlet had chilled her for the last time. Belle didn't have a home, something she constantly had to remind herself. She couldn't remember exactly how long she'd been on the streets, but she felt like it had been a long time. She couldn't even pinpoint exactly what had gotten her on them in the first place, but that detail seemed rather unimportant now.

Surviving was her only goal.

For a long time, the park bench on the most Northern point of the Storybrooke Public Park had been the place she called "home", though she shared it with any number of people during the day. It was a sturdy bench, not too terrible to sleep on, or under, depending on the weather. Belle was a diminutive woman and considered herself lucky in that aspect. Many small nooks had become beds over the years.

The bench had served her well until a group of teenagers had stumbled upon her one evening, during their nights of supposed adulthood complete with cheap beer pilfered from unsuspecting parents.

They had paused to sit down and ended up sitting on Belle. Not the best way to wake up. They prodded at her enough to make her seek out a new shelter and she'd found herself wondering about seeking out an actual house. If the occupant of the house was gone on a regular schedule, Belle could find herself with access to things she hadn't had in years, like a shower.

There was only one resident in town she knew she could count on to stick to a schedule: Mr. Gold. She found herself outside his house the next morning. It was fairly easy to figure out Mr. Gold's schedule. He left his house every morning at 7:00 am on the dot and returned at 6:30 pm like clockwork. That gave Belle almost twelve luxurious hours utilizing things even Mr. Gold didn't in his home.

Getting in the first time had proven to be a tad trickier than she'd anticipated. Mr. Gold wasn't about to do something as pedestrian as hide a key outside the front door but a little investigating had revealed that Mr. Gold left his bathroom window downstairs unlocked. Belle was able to shimmy it open and, being so small, squeeze her way in.

Every day since then she had been able to gain access to the house the same way. She looked up from her vantage point in the bushes, watching the taillights of Mr. Gold's Cadillac fade from view. Taking a deep breath and counting slowly to ten as a precaution, she pushed herself up from the dirt and took off across the lawn. Just because she'd never seen another person around the house didn't mean she could afford to be reckless.

She reached the window and heaved a sigh of relief as the window slid open. She hoisted herself into the bathroom, landing squarely in his downstairs shower. This bathroom was apparently for guests as it was stocked with exactly one towel and nothing else, but Belle would have felt awkward breaking into Mr. Gold's actual shower.

She climbed out of the stall, pausing briefly to use the toilet. She glanced up, while washing her hands, looking intently at herself in the mirror. She almost couldn't tell she was homeless anymore. Spending her days at Gold's had allowed to her bathe regularly, eat somewhat regularly, and sleep somewhere without being completely exposed to the elements.

She knew what she was doing, breaking and entering, stealing was wrong, but at the same time couldn't bring herself to stop. Mr. Gold had plenty of money, that much was clear, and Belle made sure to never leave a trace of herself behind. No one was getting hurt and just knowing she was inhabiting the same space as another person did, even if it was at different times, made her feel a little less alone.

She left the bathroom, turning down one of the long hallways towards the kitchen. If she was lucky, Mr. Gold had gone grocery shopping, or had someone deliver groceries, and she could sneak something for breakfast.

She couldn't afford to be too obvious in her choosings. Mr. Gold would surely notice if his food started going missing. She reached the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. Luck was on her side, it was full. She felt a smile steal over her face and she crossed to fill the kettle with water. Mr. Gold did have wonderful taste in tea. She'd always adored a nice hot cup of tea warming her insides, but rarely got to partake in the beverage. Hot tea wasn't something one just found on the street.

While Belle waited for the water to come to a boil, she turned back to the fridge. The egg carton revealed that 5 eggs out of the dozen had been used. One more probably wouldn't be noticed. She snagged the egg and grabbed the block of cheddar cheese sitting next to the carton. An egg with some cheese would be the perfect breakfast before she took her morning nap.

Belle smiled thinking of the purple guestroom she had found at the back of the house. She'd been perfectly okay with the couch but the guest room's bed had been too soft to pass up. The entire room had a thin layer of dust letting her know it wasn't a place Mr. Gold came to often and thus he wasn't likely to notice it was being used.

The bed was the softest she had ever felt and even an hour cradled in it's plush pillows was better than twelve hours on the couch.

She pulled a small skillet out from the drawer full of pans and turned the heat one next to the kettle. She returned to the fridge, this time seeking butter, quickly finding and sliding the piece over the pan, just so her egg wouldn't stick.

She cracked the egg into a small glass bowl that was always on the drying rack and scrambled with a fork. She hummed softly to herself. This was nice. For a moment, she could imagine she had just seen Mr. Gold off to work and was merely adding onto the breakfast she had already shared with him.

She didn't know Mr. Gold per say, but living in his space had given her a connection with the man and the more she had seen had solidified her gut instinct of him not being the dangerous man as he was known around town.

His house screamed loneliness, something Belle could definitely relate to. It was tempting to knock on the door while he was home, simply to ask for some food or a roof, but the fear of him looking at her with disgust before rejecting her was too overwhelming.

She tipped the egg into the skillet, setting down to the task of shreding some cheese when she heard it; a click at the front door. She froze. Mr. Gold had never come back so much as a minute before 6:30 in the months Belle had been using his house. He'd never returned for so much as an umbrella. She glanced outside. It wasn't even raining.

She looked at her mess. He'd know someone was in here but he wouldn't know it was her. She turned the heat off the stove and turned, taking another deep breath. The back door was on the other side of the kitchen, she'd be gone before he got to her.

The front door crashed open with a bang, causing Belle to jump three feet in the air. Mr. Gold would never do something so crass. Unless he was extremely angry. Belle needed to get out of there. Now.

Every muscle in her body was screaming in panic, but she found herself rooted to the ground. If it was Mr. Gold, and he did catch her, maybe he'd allow her to stay, maybe she could have someone to talk to.

She didn't know what she'd do if it was someone else. She felt a strange flash of protectiveness for a house that wasn't even hers. This wasn't her home. She didn't have a home. Let Mr. Gold deal with a break in.

Her brain was at war with itself, and she still hadn't taken a step either way.

All of a sudden, the door frame to the kitchen was filled with a body. A body that was not Mr. Gold.

Belle gulped. She knew exactly who was staring her down.

Moe French. The town florist. The man was a lot larger than she was and holding a baseball bat.

She knew, as did everyone else in town, that he was a raging alcoholic, turned onto the bottle after losing his only daughter Lacey in a car accident. His wife had died long ago.

He could barely hold onto his flower business due to missing rent payments left and right. If he was breaking into Gold's house, he was truly desperate.

"What are you doing here?" He spit out.

Belle took a breath and decided to lie.

"I'm Mr. Gold's housekeeper." She stuttered. "He's not in at the moment."

Moe sneered. Bringing the bat up to play with it in his hands.

"That's a lie," he growled, "Gold doesn't have a housekeeper. No woman worth anything would waste her time working for him. I'll ask one more time. What are you doing here?"

Belle swallowed. This man had the manic gleam in his eyes that the streets had taught her usually meant something bad was right around the corner. She had to think quickly. She had to get out of this.

"What are you doing here?" She fired back. This man had just as little reason as she did to be in the house.

"Well that's none of your business." He sneered back. "But, perhaps you can be of use to me if you are tied to Gold, send him a little message."

Belle felt herself backing up, trying to put as much space between herself and this man. She got two steps in before feeling the counter poke her back.

Belle raised her eyes to Moe's defiantly meeting his gaze. Just because he was bigger didn't mean she'd already lost.

Moe chuckled. The sound grossly echoing between the two of them.

"I think you'll make a wonderful message. Even if you're lying." He lunged towards Belle, one hand extended to grab her, the other raising the bat above his head.

Belle watched him coming choosing the right moment to duck beneath his arm. Moe was a big man, he didn't move with any agility. She darted across the kitchen throwing one of Gold's dining chairs behind her. She laughed to herself. This had been far easier to get out of than expected.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Moe had tripped over the chair. Not watching what was in front of her, she ran into another body filling the doorframe to the foyer.

Belle rebounded off the body looking up into the eyes of Gaston, Moe's only employee though thug would be a more appropriate title. She hadn't seen him. She glanced to her left and saw Moe rising from the floor.

With Gaston blocking her right and Moe on her left, she was trapped.

She felt tears prickle at her eyes. All she'd wanted was an egg. Belle swallowed the self pity in a heartbeat, latching onto the anger coursing through her veins instead.

Gaston grabbed her by the arms, squeezing tight enough to leave bruises. Belle opened her mouth and let out an ear piercing scream, hoping someone would hear. Moe chucked, walking slowly towards her.

"You know as well as I do that no one's going to hear you scream. Well, no one that would be able to help you." Gaston laughed cruelly in her ears as Moe raised the bat and brought it across her legs.

Belle screamed again as she felt the wood connect solidly with her leg bones.

"Gaston," Moe panted, already sweaty from his movements. "Tell me you brought your favorite toy."

Gaston laughed more openly this time.

"Never leave home without it, Moe." He replied. Releasing one of Belle's arms he reached into his back pocket and pulled out a hunting knife. "How shall I mark her?" He asked.

"However you desire." Came Moe's reply.

Belle struggled harder against Gaston, the burning in her legs protesting the movment.

"Settle down!" Gaston roared and Belle felt the cool of the knife pressing against her throat. She stilled. "That's better," he sneered.

Belle felt the blade caress her skin gently before the stinging started. Gaston dragged the knife just hard enough to make her bleed, the blood pooling on the collar of her ratty tshirt.

Satisfied that she wasn't going to struggle, Gaston threw her down on the floor.

Belle groaned as her head hit the hard tiles of the kitchen floor. She struggled to sit up trying to crawl away from the men and towards the door.

"None of that!" Came Moe's voice and Belle felt the bat across her back, crying out at the pain.

"Look around," Moe commanded, "Gold has to have something we can use to tie her up."

Gaston nodded, thankfully taking the knife with him as he went to search.

"Now," Moe began. "We can't have this be the message. No, this isn't nearly strong enough."

The smile on his face was causing Belle to shake harder than she already was. She could see where the front door was still open. She could just glimpse the grey sky beyond the front porch. She thought she saw a bird fly by, oblivious to the horror going on in the house.

Moe laughed again before bringing the bat down again and again. Belle cried out struggling as much as she could against the attack.

Moe was relentless landing blows to her arms, back and legs.

Belle could taste blood in her mouth from biting her tongue and the wound Gaston had caused had begun to drip onto the floor. She groaned as Moe seemed to pause, flicking her eyes again towards the door. The bird had been real and was now perched on the front railing. It was a bluebird.

Belle thought it was lovely.

Moe resumed and the world went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Callum Gold began his morning as he did every other, staring at the darkened ceiling of his bedroom. He knew his alarm will go off in a few minutes. He's unsure of why he always wakes before it is absolutely necessary, even less sure he slept to begin with.

A few moments passed. His eyes swept over the outline of his window, light barely peeking through the heavy red drapes. Maybe it's early. He turned onto his side. Perhaps this morning, he could fall back into some semblance of a slumber.

Looking at the clock would ruin the game he was playing with his brain. The elation of knowing it was still early enough to attempt sleep wasn't more enticing than the ire if he was minutes away from obligation.

Callum's eyes drifted closed, his body relaxing into the mattress. A couple seconds of rest couldn't hurt.

He began counting backwards from ten, the rhythm of the numbers working to soothe his mind. He made it all the way to seven before his alarm went off, the radio station warning of a brisk day.

Callum flipped back over onto his back. Perfect, he thought, as the weatherman continued on about low temperatures, just perfect. It was rent day and traversing the town was difficult enough in favorable conditions.

Mumbling to himself, he dragged his body into a sitting position, feet dangling off the bed. Reaching over for his cane, he pushed himself off the bed, stretching his aching body in the process.

His bare feet curled in protest against the hard wood of his bedroom floor. The weatherman seemed to be somewhat correct, it was definitely cold this morning.

The confirmation of a day of impending pain caused Callum to mutter more under his breath as he turned towards his bathroom. Maybe after a warming shower, things wouldn't seem so damn dire.

Twenty minutes later, shaven, clean and dressed, Callum found himself in the kitchen nursing a cup of strong coffee and his customary breakfast of eggs and toast. The coffee was doing wonders to not only chase away the physical chill but the mental one as well.

A glance at the clock told Callum the day wasn't getting any younger, and hell, neither was he. One more swig of coffee, chased by a bite of eggs and the dishes found themselves in the sink.

Callum crossed the foyer to the hall closet, opening and removing his wool coat and scarf. With as much cloth armor in place as possible, he pulled open the front door, turning to close and lock it behind him.

The day progressed as rent day often does, in a blur of veiled threats, unveiled threats and actual exchange of funds. Callum couldn't remember quite how he had become to be so damn hated in this town but if it meant he wasn't to be plagued with attempts of human niceties, so be it.

Luckily for him, the town was small enough that even a man with a cane could traverse to all the necessary destinations without having to stop for embarrassing rests along the way. It was a painful experience but only just. It was doable.

The final stop of the day belonged to Granny. As the owner of both the bed and breakfast and the town's only diner, her rent check was one of Gold's largest, thus he didn't mind saving it for last. Widow Lucas didn't like him anymore than anyone else in town, but she didn't seem to like him any less either. Her granddaughter Ruby on the other hand, well, he wasn't sure what personal offense he had committed against her, but it must have been quite the grievance.

Callum pushed open the door to the bed and breakfast portion of Granny's livelihood as it was getting later in the evening and she was more likely to be tending the front desk of the inn than waiting tables.

Not that anyone ever seemed to rent a room, but that wasn't Callum's concern. He got the same amount of money whether one person stayed or she was booked solid.

The warmth of the lobby, if one could even call it that, helped banish a percentage of the chill that had been steadily making its presence known to Callum. He gritted his teeth as his ankle decided just then to protest the motion of walking.

Callum took one deep breath, then two. It was almost over, this day. One more wad of cash to pocket and then he could retreat to his scotch and fireplace.

He glanced up towards the counter, knowing that the person he was dealing with, Ruby or Widow Lucas, would determine the way he handled the transaction.

None of his metal preparations could have prepared him for the sight that accosted his eyes.

Someone new.

Someone he didn't know.

Callum quickly wracked his brain, trying desperately to come up with a reasonable explanation for why there was suddenly an attractive, fierce looking blonde woman trying to rent a room from Granny.

Callum gaped in her general direction until Granny's voice grounded him once more.

"You're here for the rent, aren't you?" She intoned. "Here take it."

Callum's ankle wisely chose to stay silent as he ignored Granny and crossed the small space between the stranger and himself. Her eyes swept over him in a manner that told him she was not to be trifled with.

He lowered his voice, making sure to hit that special place between seductive and menacing that left people quite caught in the trap that was, well, himself.

"It's not often we see a new person grace Storybrooke with their presence," he began "are you quite sure you're not lost."

Callum could see the blonde struggling to refrain from rolling her eyes at him. Good, he thought, she had spark. That could be useful, somehow.

From behind the pair, Granny lightly snorted, trying to remove her cantankerous landlord from a proper business dealing before he ruined the transaction.

"Come on, Gold." Granny sounded exasperated. "Just take your money and be on your way. Can't have you scaring away decent business."

Callum's eyes flickered in Granny's direction before again settling on the hazel ones of the newcomer.

"All in good time, Widow Lucas." He whispered, never letting his gaze soften while searching the blonde's defenses. "I don't believe I caught your name, dearie."

"That's because I didn't offer it." Fired the blonde.

Callum couldn't quite conceal the grin twitching across his features. He had been correct. The blonde had fire.

"Unless you wish to see the owner of this, fine establishment," Callum scoffed, "suddenly owing a lot more to me next month, you'd best inform me of your name."

The blonde's features took on the appearance of literal war as she obviously struggled with giving in to his demand.

Finally, her face caved as she took a deep breath.

"Emma." She spat out. "Emma Swan."

At her acquiescence, Callum blanched. But wait, Callum wasn't right. That wasn't his name. What was happening. Who was he?

His face must have betrayed a modicum of what was happening inside because Granny actually looked concerned.

He forced his arm forward to snatch the wad of bills off the counter.

"I do hope you enjoy your stay in Storybrooke, Ms. Swan." He gritted out. The pain was getting worse. He had to get out of there. Now.

He spun, cane slipping and wretched the door open, for once thankful for the brisk Maine wind that greeted him.

He wanted nothing more than to collapse on the ground until the roaring inside his body subsided but something told him that wasn't an option.

Forcing himself forward he tried to sift through the thoughts racing in his head.

Images blurred and tumbled over each other, seeming to combine into memory only to be wrenched apart.

He saw a young boy, a beautiful woman, and the mayor? What was she doing in all this?

But somehow, like with his name, he knew she wasn't the mayor. Not really.

Then, with a sudden snap, everything settled into place.

He knew who he was. Where he was. Who was with him. Who was supposed to be with him.

Rumplestiltskin growled as his cursed memories filled him in on everything Regina had carried out. He had to hand it to her, she'd done the best she could with what she'd been given. He was almost sorry to watch it all unravel around her. Almost.

The young boy and beautiful woman were no longer merely that. Baelfire. Belle. The reason for this drastic, world shattering experience.

Rumple almost fell as the conversation from so many years ago, with Regina about his then maid, flittered into his mind.

No.

Rumple wracked his brain. Desperately searching through the cursed inhabitants of Storybrooke for his chestnut haired Beauty. He sagged against his cane as he was unable to find her amongst the meager population of the coastal Maine town.

He had been sure Regina had lied to him. Sure. So sure that he'd put off the curse for nearly three years while trying to find any trace of her. His searches had given him nothing. Less than nothing. He hadn't even been able to find any trace she'd existed, she was just, gone.

Her homeland, Avonlea, had fallen to the ogres eventually, her bravely bartered peace shattered with her death. He family and friends perishing at the hands of those...monsters.

But wait. That was impossible. Belle's father. Maurice, King of Avonlea. He was here. He was a tenant. Moe French, owner of the unfortunately named flower shop.

Rumple stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, stunned. He had seen the devastation of Avonlea. There were no survivors. Unless...

Regina was more formidable than Rumplestiltskin gave her credit. She'd done something, what, he wasn't entirely sure, but something to ensure that his search in the Enchanted Forest would turn up with nothing.

She obviously hadn't got to such extreme lengths in this land, but, in her defense, she didn't know Rumple had designed this curse to break.

If she'd lied about Maurice...he could be correct that she'd lied about Belle.

A fierce warmth swept through Rumplestiltskin. That woman, Emma Swan, was the Savior. Of that much, he was sure. What he wasn't sure of, was if he could search for his son while the whole of the curse remained intact. Or better, if he could allow himself to search for Bae while he didn't know if Belle was alive...or. No. He wouldn't even think that. She was alive.

She had to be. She had to be alive so he could grovel at her perfect feet. Apologize for everything that had happened between them, for whatever damage this curse had done to her or her memories. Apologize for whatever hell his cowardice had sent her into back in their old land.

He had to apologize. She'd been right, back when she'd dared look him in the eyes as he threw her out. Of course she'd been right. She'd been everything he didn't know he needed.

The woman he loved.

Rumple started off towards his house, pleased to discover the cane he'd been so accustomed to was pointless now. He could see the top of his Victorian house peaking over the next rise. A house he had come home to for twenty eight years, but had never managed to become a home. Perhaps he could change that.

He almost jogged up the slight hill simply because he could but decided against it. While he was the Dark One again, he and the illustrious mayor were the only ones who knew the truth. To any other townsperson, he was still the, slightly, evil Callum Gold. He couldn't have any of his tenants catch him indulging in a run.

He had an image to protect.

All too soon, his house was within his sights, though, not all was quite right.

His front door was open.

Rumple knew Callum, he, had definitely locked it, as he did every morning.

He paused wondering who or what could have gotten the door open. He'd have to get closer to figure out if the door had been kicked in or if the lock had been picked.

He crossed his front yard, for once walking on the grass instead of the concrete path, and found himself on his front porch.

A quick inspection of his door told him that it had indeed been kicked open.

He growled. This land had no magic. Or at least no point at which to access magic. Rumple could feel the pull of his power dancing underneath his skin, but he couldn't pinpoint a conduit to utilize. He had a solution to this issue but his hasty retreat from Ms. Swan meant it would be at least a couple days before that plan could be put into motion.

The cane in his hand seemed to make its presence known in that moment and Rumple smirked as he held it aloft as a makeshift sword.

Granted, he had never been much of a swordsman, but he could make do in a pinch. He wasn't even sure there was someone still inside his house.

He jabbed at the door with the rubber tip of his cane, causing it to swing open gently. He cursed in his mind as he realized he'd left no lights on and night had most definitely fallen.

Another few jabs against the wall turned on the light in the foyer and he was stunned to see blood covering the floor, droplets shouting their existence from between dusty footprints.

What had happened here.

Rumplestiltskin cautiously took another step forward following the path of blood and feet through his foyer and to the door to the right, the kitchen.

He used his cane to jab the door open again, not willing to risk destruction of finger prints. It swung open surprisingly smoothly for whatever had occurred here.

He used the tip of his finger to press the light switch that was on the wall next to him, steeling himself for whatever was there...perhaps nothing.

The light flooded the space and time stopped.

Rumple heard his cane clatter to the floor and then realized he had collapsed. Noises filled his kitchen and he realized, after a beat, they were coming from him.

He scrambled on his hands and feet towards the body, skidding on the blood all over the floor.

The blood.

Too much blood.

He grabbed her arm having to forcibly remind himself to be gentle and not simply grab her and haul her onto his lap.

His brain was screaming as he drew his hand up to concentrate his magic into healing her. No. He couldn't do that. Not yet. Not here.

His fingers struggled for grip against her cold, slick skin.

Silence pushed against him, crushing the air out of his lungs, compacting his body over hers.

Finally. Finally, he caught hold of a pulse. Fluttering against his hand. She was fighting. She was pushing back against the silence, against him.

The tears that had, at some point, begun to drip off of his face, were cruelly cleaning some of the mess off of her arm.

Everything inside Rumplestiltskin was on fire. He had to do something, he had to call someone. He couldn't fix this on his own even though he loathed the thought of another human getting anywhere near the pair of them ever again.

His free hand untangled itself from the floor and grasped the cell phone in his pockets. How he managed to dial the three simple numbers, Rumple wasn't sure.

He growled that he needed an ambulance before tossing the phone aside.

He brought his free hand up to gently touch her cheek, brush back a matted curl. The tears returned with reinforcements.

"I'm so sorry, sweetheart." He sobbed. "I'm so sorry, my Belle."

He touched her softly, not willing to break contact for a moment. Hunched over her form, knowing help was coming, he allowed the silence to hug instead of crush.


	3. Chapter 3

The silence was back. Rumplestiltskin had found himself in the home of the silence. Apparently, it thrived in the corridors of the dastardly building, between shuffling feet, beeping machines, and muffled sobs.

Rumple's eyes swept over the still form in the bed, clutching onto her hand with as much strength as he thought she could handle. His Belle was strong. She was so strong. Much stronger than he was, stronger than people often gave her credit.

The fact that she was still here was proof of that.

The past eight hours weighed heavily on Rumple's mind. The past thirty years. He sighed, rubbing his face with his free hand. What had Regina done with her? Where had she been keeping her? The doctors who talked to him said she was homeless here. It had taken everything he had to remember to keep Mr. Gold forefront in his mind.

Homeless. A play on the thing he had refused to give her back at the Dark Castle. He'd told Regina exactly what she wanted to hear.

The idea of home was something that had eluded Rumplestiltskin for his entire life. Given up by his father, unable to make a home that kept Milah, given up Bae. It was ludicrous to think that he could offer Belle the one thing he couldn't even offer himself.

And now it had come back to haunt him in the form of Belle's cursed life.

Damn Regina. She'd been more perceptive than he'd ever given her credit.

A loud beep drew stopped his breathing and drew his attention back down to the woman in front of him.

Rumple froze, eyes sweeping over the still form of his True Love. Nothing was happening. She was breathing on her own. That was good, even if she still wasn't awake, right?

A knock sounded on the door drawing Rumple out of a seemingly endless cycle of racing thoughts.

Dr. Whale. Or, wait, Frankenstein.

Rumple blanched. Regina obviously didn't think much of the health and wellness of her new kingdom if this was the man she created to be a doctor.

"How's she doing Mr. Gold?" He inquired, tone suggesting it was merely a formality.

Rumple paused, allowing the mask of Mr. Gold to slide back across his features. Everything from cadence to posture shifted into the guise of the rough pawnbroker.

Not that it really mattered. Rumple was fairly certain that he could've giggled like the imp he used to be and Whale would still be distracted by the fact that Mr. Gold was concerned about a homeless woman.

"She still hasn't woken up." Rumple muttered, willing himself not to let Whale know how much that simple fact petrified him.

Whale moved into the room, ignoring the way the other man tensed at his proximity. "It's only been two days since her surgery, it's completely normal for days to pass until the swelling in the brain and elsewhere lessens." He moved across the room to the cart against the wall that contained all the medication his Belle was on. Rumple didn't like his love being in the hands of this modern medicine.

Whale picked up the chart hanging off the edge of her bed rifling through the clipped pages. He placed it back with a satisfied hum, moving to glance at the various monitors, "You can go home, you know. I know she was found in your house but we'll call you if there's any change." He picked up Belle's right arm, the one with all the wires, and picked up a syringe placing the pointed end into a point in the plastic tubing and pushed down the plunger.

Rumple swallowed the growl that was threatening to bubble up his throat and over his lips. "I think I'll stay right here, dearie."

Whale glanced back over his shoulder, eyes sweeping over the pawnbroker. "Suit yourself."

He turned and began moving out of the room. Rumplestiltskin let the visage of Mr. Gold shatter as the person who was supposed to help Belle was leaving without really doing anything.

"There's nothing you can do?" He stammered, cursing inwardly at his words yet unable to stop them from spewing forth. "She's not...in pain, is she?"

Whale paused, hand on the door. He took a deep breath, not a very good sign, before turning to face him. "I gave her something for any pain she might have now but there's no indicator that she'll have any lasting kind of pain, her brain levels are good, her body just needs to heal, plain and simple."

Relief flooded through Rumple. He wouldn't be able to bear Belle saddled with any sort of injury. He knew first hand how much that could hinder a life. Belle was such a kind, light person, she didn't need anything bad in her life. It was bad enough she wanted him.

Whale took a step back towards Rumple but paused as he saw the troubled look flit across the face of Storybrooke's monster. "You know, it's okay if she meant something to you. No one would blame you. For...caring."

Rumplestiltskin heard his voice floating back towards Gold unaware that he had even thought to utter anything, "I was too late."

He kept his eyes fixed on Belle's still form as he dropped back into the chair by her bedside. As much as Whale was rationally correct, he would most likely have enough time to run home, shower and change, even eat or shower, he couldn't bear the thought of walking out of the hospital room without seeing Belle's brilliant blue eyes.

He remembered the blue. The crystalline blue. The perfect cloudless sky and a million other seemingly ridiculous similes. Eyes that knew him. Eyes that loved him.

The part of his brain telling him to go home and take care of himself was also yelling that he wouldn't see any of that in her eyes because she wouldn't have any idea who he was.

The much larger part of his brain told the smaller portion to shut up.

Rumple heaved another sigh. He kept reminding himself that this was good, her body was healing. Everything would be back to normal. Soon.

The first thing Belle was aware of was that she was thirsty, extremely thirsty. The second thing she was aware of was pain.

She cracked her eyes open, almost immediately shutting them against the onslaught of light.

When had the world gotten so damn bright?

Belle grimaced as she trying to stretch feeling not only her muscles protesting but a weight against her left side. She cracked her eyes again, determined to let as little light as possible enter her retinas.

The more her body adjusted to being awake the more questions flooded her thoughts. Where was she? How had she gotten there? And, most importantly, why did so much of her body hurt?

She let her eyes drift closed as she tried to sort through the racing thoughts. Focusing on things she knew were definitely true could only help matters, right? It was extremely hard to concentrate on any one thing. Belle couldn't figure out why her mind was so fuzzy.

She began with the basics: her name. Her name was Belle. Belle what? A surname didn't float to the forefront of her mind, but it didn't seem extraordinarily important. She was in Maine. Storybrooke. The place she'd lived all her life. Home. She didn't have a home. She was homeless.

If she was homeless, why was she in a bed?

A throbbing somewhere over her left temple encouraged her to open her eyes once more and try and make sense of her surroundings.

Cracking her eyes open a sliver, she saw a myriad of tubing coming out of her arms and hands as well as a rhythmic beeping.

With a sigh, she shifted her gaze further. Finally, at the very edge of her vision, she spotted a pitcher of water. If only her arm would move. Why wouldn't her arm move?

Letting her head fall back on the pillow, Belle suppressed a sob. She could assume she was in the hospital and something had gone wrong.

No. She wasn't going to cry. She took a shuddering breath and went back to her perusal of facts. The last thing she remembered was getting ready to start her day in Mr. Gold's house.

Belle gasped, eyes flying open. She'd been found out. He must have come home and found her intruding and gotten angry. Belle suppressed a shudder. She didn't consider the pawnbroker to be violent per say, but like all, she knew of his reputation.

Now that her eyes were open, she blinked, letting the light press gently against her eyes and by extension, her aching head. She darted her eyes across the seemingly simple hospital room. On the table to her right was the pitcher of water with a cup. It was further than she'd first guessed. Why was it so far away? Her right arm was connected to more wires than she could guess she would need. She wouldn't be able to even try to stretch it out.

Perhaps, she could swing her left arm over, but there was still a warm weight sitting against her whole left side. Belle didn't know what had happened to require a hospital stay but it seemed to be affecting her entire left side.

Belle tried to slow her breathing and remain calm. A large portion of her mind was screaming that she was now basically a sitting duck. People on the streets that couldn't move, couldn't defend themselves were just attacks waiting to happen. She had to try and fix this. Perhaps there was therapy she could learn.

Taking another breath, she turned her head towards the left side of the room. The sight that greeted her almost caused her to pull out the myriad of wires and run from the room, even though her battered brain reminded her she wasn't going to be able to do that.

Mr. Gold himself was lying across the left portion of her bed, his upper body tucked next to her arm, their fingers intertwined. He was sitting in a chair next to her bed, and the amount of stubble that adorned her cheeks told her he'd been there a while.

Belle started breathing heavier, hearing her heart rate accelerate over the beeping monitors. He was going to wake up. He was going to hear the insane beeping and wake up and then he'd be so very angry. She tried easing her fingers out from between his, but he merely tightened his grip.

Belle fell against the pillow, fighting back tears. What had she done? What had she done to deserve this weird reality she had woke in?

A mumbled moan stopped her racing thoughts in their track. He was waking up. Belle felt fear sitting on top of her rib cage fighting against a small fluttering relief at finally being found out and possibly, if she was being honest, a tiny tinge of hope that perhaps Mr. Gold wouldn't hate her forever.

The grip on her hand increased even more as the weight against her body lessened. Mr. Gold sat up and rubbed his eyes with his free hand before seeming to realize he was still holding her hand and quickly released her fingers. He stifled a small yawn between his hand and Belle had to hold back a giggle at seeing the always put together Mr. Gold so very rumpled.

She must have allowed some sort of noise to escape her lips because that very instant she found warm brown eyes trained on her own blue.

"Belle." He breathed. A wealth of emotion held in the one syllable she knew identified her as her. She wasn't sure how he knew her name, it wasn't like he'd ever come across her she'd have never allowed that in her disheveled, homeless state. Perhaps the doctor had given it to him.

If her emotions weren't so at war within herself, she may have laughed at the expression on Mr. Gold's face. If her brain wasn't injured, she might have picked up on the fact that his expression was the most curious blend of grief, awe, love, regret, and anger.

Mr. Gold's mouth dropped open and Belle allowed a small smile to tug at her mouth. She made another small noise before moving her eyes to glance at the pitcher on her bedside. He followed her gaze and half jumped from his chair, wincing as his muscles reacted to motion after so many hours still, add that to his leg and Belle was surprised he could move at all.

He bit his lower lip as he stood, reaching for the cane Belle now saw was leaning against her bed. He limped slowly around her bed keeping on hand braced on the bed and one gripping the gold handled cane. He finally reached the small table again leaning his cane against the mattress to be able to pour into the cup. Belle watched his eyes flit every couple seconds to the door as if he was afraid of intruders.

He finally finished pouring and turned towards her with a cup of water in his hand and a question in his eyes. Inching towards her with heartbreaking gentleness, Belle felt his free hand slide gently behind her head to support her head as she drank. Some odd portion of her brain wondered at the state of her hair, she had no idea how long she'd been in this place.

With his other hand, Mr. Gold brought the small cup up to her lips and tilted slightly. The cool water that slid down her throat was, hands down, one of the most pleasurable things Belle could remember drinking. She gulped down the entire cupful, finally feeling a little more normal.

She swallowed once more before deciding to attempt to say something to the man that had apparently stayed with her during her tenure at the hospital. She blinked, unsure of what to make of the intense gaze she was being fixed with.

"Mr..." her voice crunched. It was extraordinarily hoarse. It didn't even sound like her voice.

The pain in Mr. Gold's eyes intensified tenfold at her communication attempt. "Hush," he crooned, why hadn't she before noticed how lovely his voice was, "you don't have to say anything. This is all my fault. My fault.".

Bele was stunned. Why was he apologizing to her? Belle was the one that had been habitually breaking into his house and stealing portions of his food. Her quizzical expression must have been apparent because Mr. Gold stopped mid sentence.

She cleared her throat, determined to get a whole word out this time. "What are you talking about?" She managed to squeeze out. Her throat felt like it had been replaced by sandpaper.

Mr. Gold looked even more choked as the question reached him, if that was even possible. He simply stared at her for a minute, searching out her eyes with his. Belle felt as though he was looking for something, what, though, she wasn't sure. After another moment stretched out impossibly long, she decided she'd try again to ease whatever was going on.

"I'm sorry." She choked out and almost tried to take it back at the look that passed over Mr. Gold's face. He took a step back from her as though her mere presence was too much to handle. He raked a hand through his hair, messing it even more, and opened his mouth to speak.

At that moment, there was a knock on the door, startling Mr. Gold into shutting his mouth. Belle didn't know why she felt extremely sad that she didn't know what he was going to say. Another man Belle had never seen before peaked his head around the door, though the white coat he was wearing alerted Belle to the fact that he was probably her doctor.

"Oh! You're awake!" He exclaimed. "Mr. Gold, you should've come and gotten me!"

Mr. Gold merely made a sound like he was choking on his tongue. Belle wasn't sure why, but the doctor in the room had broken whatever connection had been tenuously stretched between them.

The doctor came closer to Belle, looking intently at the monitors around her bed. He pulled out a small light and shined it quickly across her eyes. "How are you feeling, Miss Belle is it?"

Belle thought quickly before deciding to merely shrug.

"That's perfectly normal after experiencing something as traumatic as you have." He rambled on, seemingly oblivious to Belle's discomfort. "I'll need to check you out more thoroughly but for now I'll have Nurse Ruby come in to clean you up a bit."

He smiled, overly happy about something, though to Belle it came off as slick. Her eyes met Mr. Gold's again, still frozen by the side of her bed. The doctor turned his attention to the spellbound man, "You can go get that change of clothes and that shower." he commented, before patting him on the shoulder and moving towards the strip of buttons attached to Belle's bed.

Mr. Gold blinked before gripping the cane again, knuckles turning white. "I'll be back, Whale." He muttered softly as he turned. Belle wasn't sure if she was supposed to have overheard. He limped towards the door, grabbing his suit jacket from a hook on the wall. As soon as he was out of sight, Belle allowed herself to drop back against the pillows, preparing for the prodding of medical staff.

Whale, a strange name, but that's what Mr. Gold had called him, was still standing at her side, speaking softly into the strip attached on her bed. A feminine voice answered him, probably the Nurse Ruby he'd mentioned. Belle looked back up towards the ceiling, feeling her emotions overwhelm her once more. The door slid open and Belle eagerly looked over, hoping Mr. Gold had decided to stay after all.

The figure that appeared in the doorway wasn't the slim Scotsman, but rather a thin, tall woman joined by a couple of younger girls, probably volunteers. It seemed her privacy and solitude were going to be encroached upon for now. Belle tried to make eye contact as everyone in the room poked at her and checked charts. Eventually, she gave up, exhausted by the effort of pretending she was alright. Dropping her head back, she found a small hole in the ceiling and directed all her attentions on it. Seemingly miles away, she heard a voice asking her if she felt up to standing for a minute. Another voice dismissed that idea and told her to stay put.

Belle allowed herself to doze slightly, her mind wandering. More people had joined the nurses and were tidying up her small chambers. So many people, but not the one she found herself wanting. He said he'd be back. He was a man of his word. Belle didn't know how she knew that, but she did. He'd be back.

Belle was directed to sit up, the pillow behind her was quickly replaced and then she was eased back onto the now fluffy surface. The nurses kept smiling at her, the doctor overseeing all the activity.

Belle swallowed a lump that appeared unbidden in her throat. She couldn't figure out why the room felt so empty.


End file.
